Two Can Play
by frozenroses
Summary: DMHG Oneshot. Hermione catches on to Draco's little game.
1. Draco

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you recognize. Which is almost everything.

**Two Can Play **

Draco Malfoy suppressed a shudder at the feel of some 6th year Slytherin running her hand up his thigh. '_One lay and she fancies herself in love with me,'_ he thought to himself, mentally rolling his eyes. If only she could be more like _her_.

_She_ knew that nothing would come of their times together. Not that anything _could_, or it would be both their heads, but that was beside the point. A girl who understood the basis of a purely physical relationship was exactly what he needed right now, and she was exactly that. Although, it's true—she was definitely the last person he would have expected to start any kind of relationship with, physical or otherwise. Of course, he wasn't complaining—they still hated one another, after all.

The thought of _her_ brought to life the infamous Malfoy smirk, as memories of last week's escapades flooded into the forefront of his mind. Had it really been a week since he touched her? '_Merlin…_' This was, without a doubt, the longest tiff they'd held since their agreement at the beginning of the year, and he wanted nothing more than to end the stupid fight now so they could go back to previous arrangements. However, he was still a Malfoy, and Malfoys never apologized. Never. His smirk faded as his jaw set in grim determination. She'd be in his bed by the end of the week. Maybe even the night, if he was lucky.

"Not now, Lorraine," he spat as the insufferable twit began to move her hand northward. Already, a plan had begun to form within his mind—he _was_ a Slytherin, after all. Ever-observant, he knew by now exactly what she liked…and exactly what set her off, both good and bad. Lorraine wouldn't do. Oh, no—she wouldn't do at all.

The young Malfoy scanned the Great Hall, not noticing Lorraine's annoyed huff. Then again, nothing could distract him when he knew what he wanted. After a third scan of the Gryffindor table, he was certain—she had yet to come down for dinner. Perfect.

"Hey Pans," he greeted, his voice rich and husky. "Got any plans this weekend?"

"Not yet, though I'm thinking of visiting Hogsmeade. Care to join me?" she answered, equally seductive. She was, without a doubt, pure seduction in a 5'6" package, with her long black hair, shocking blue eyes, thin figure and pale skin. The whole of Slytherin agreed—as did much of the rest of the school—that she was Draco's female counterpart: both smolderingly sexy, both cool and quiet, both sultry, and both utterly ruthless. They were perfect for each other—or so the whole school thought.

It was this fact, among others, that led to Hermione Granger's complete loathing of Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin Sex Goddess to Draco's God status. During one of their rare conversations, the Gryffindor Princess had expressed strong dislike toward her classmate and when Draco asked if she was jealous, Granger had laughed at the apparent absurdity.

"I'll admit I'm jealous of that whore when you admit you're jealous of Harry and Ron," she replied.

"Why the hell would I be jealous of Scarhead and Weasel?" he exclaimed, voicing his disgust at the mere idea as he made his way to her from across the Head's common room they shared. "_I'm_ the one fucking you every night" he reminded her, before proving his point. She responded readily to his touch—more so than before—and he realized…she was jealous.

Thus began his little game. Three days later, they had another argument over something stupid—Heads' duties, no doubt—and she refused to look at him all day…until, of course, he walked into the Great Hall with Pansy on his arm. A sly glance at the Gryffindor table revealed an irritated Granger who took her frustrations out on some First year, who was given a detention for spilling Pumpkin Juice on accident. Throughout dinner, Draco had avoided her angry gaze, but could feel her eyes all during dinner. Exactly what he wanted.

Later that night, after faking a headache to get away from Pansy, he teased her about the First year, enjoying her obvious state of annoyance.

"Really, Granger—what's got your knickers in a twist?" he drawled, lying back against the arm of the couch in front of the fire in their common room.

"You know very well that I don't wear knickers," she stated matter-of-factly, head hidden behind a book so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"I _do_ know, but maybe I should check, just to make sure" he suggested, eyeing her.

"Huh. And here I thought you'd have your way with Parkinson tonight, the way you two were staring at each other throughout dinner. Honestly, why come back to our common room at all?"

Draco smirked. '_Exactly where I want her_', he thought. He stood, walking slowly over to where she sat across from him, still buried in the book. Before she could register what was going on, he removed the book from her hands.

"Malfoy—give that back. Why don't you go screw the Slut or something?" she growled, angry now. He loved it.

"But Granger, I'd much rather screw you instead," he innocently responded, "though Pansy is somewhat of an interesting fuck…never know what she'll do…"

Just as planned, Granger's lips came crashing down upon his and he could have sworn he heard her mumble something about "showing _him_ what an interesting fuck is", but it didn't really sink in. All that mattered was that he was right. After that, he knew he could use her stubborn jealousy to his advantage; being seen with Pansy during the day meant a phenomenal night with Granger. He figured this wouldn't be an exception.

'_Screw the end of the week_,' he thought to himself, '_she'll be in my bed in hours' time_'.

Keeping close to Pansy, he kept an eye on the entrance, waiting for the perfect moment to lean into her and whisper something stupid into her ear. His cue was a flash of silky brown hair. Automatically, he moved closer to Pansy, choking on his words when _she_ came into full view.

She hadn't exactly changed. In fact, the Gryffindor looked exactly as he had seen her before she left that morning for breakfast—except now she had that idiot Weasel wrapped around her. Angry fire coursed though his veins, and he suddenly felt ready to punch a hole in the nearby wall. His stomach burned with a feeling undeniably foreign, and somehow he knew that Weasley's death would be the only remedy to ease the uncomfortable-ness. What was she thinking, waltzing into the Great Hall with _him_!

It shouldn't have surprised him. The Weasel _was_ her friend, after all. But the way she held herself while under his arm seemed to scream at him, "You want to play games? Fine—two can play at this one." The fact that she carefully avoided his gaze was added evidence—she had caught onto his little charade.

Any onlooker would walk into the Great Hall and see only a roomful of students and teachers eating dinner after a hard day's work. Upon closer inspection, said onlooker might notice one or two couples at each table holding hands and whatnot—doing what typical teenage couples do. At one table, a brunette and a vibrant red-headed boy were laughing together, the girl reaching out and brushing his fiery red hair from his eyes every now and then as his hand gently lay atop hers on the table. All the way across the other side of the room, a white-blonde-haired boy and a raven-haired beauty sent each smirk after sexy smirk, their whole conversation carried wholly in each other's eyes—which was a good thing. Whatever they were saying certainly wasn't appropriate table talk. He would run his finger down her cheek as she rubbed his muscular arm over school robes. Only someone who knew what to look for would see that every once in a while the brunette's eyes would flicker over to the blonde before returning her attention to the red-head, affection doubled; the blonde's silver eyes narrowing when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brunette laugh and kiss the red-head on the cheek. Lucky for the brunette and the blonde, no one was really watching.

The minute he saw her leave, he rose from his place at the Slytherin table, claimed he forgot something somewhere, and left, taking a shortcut to the Heads' common room where he knew she would go. He wanted to be there before she arrived. She had a lot of explaining to do.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" he asked, almost conversationally, as the portrait swung open to let her in. Surprise lit her face at the sight of him, but she masked it quickly with unfeeling indifference. After living with Malfoy for a few months, she had learned quite a few tricks.

"I'm on my way up, Malfoy. It's been a long day and I'm rather tired, so if you'll excuse me…" she trailed, beginning to walk towards her dormitory.

"That's not what I meant. What were you doing with Weasel?" he clarified, standing up from his seat on the couch.

"If you mean Ron—he's my _friend_. I'd like to think I can spend time with my _friends_ every so often, Malfoy," she answered, glaring at him.

"And do you act that way with all your friends?" he shot back with equal malice.

"Excuse me? Need I remind you that _we_ have done some pretty crazy things, and I'd hardly call us 'friends'… Besides, what's it to you, anyway?" she asked, anger lacing her words.

"You call what we've done 'crazy'?" he smirked, enjoying the sight of her getting riled up and beginning to forget, for a second, his initial annoyance.

"Yeah, well, what else would I call it?" she frowned, crossing her arms as he made his way toward her.

"Crazy." He echoed, loosening his tie. "Hot. Wild. Sexy…" each word, bringing him closer to her. Her stance never faltered, but a new fire burned in her eyes—one he was all too familiar with after the many months they had spent with one another. The Malfoy smirk never left his face as he lowered his head to her neck. "Wet. Passionate. Lustful. Sweaty. Satisfying," he continued, leaving a kiss on her sensitive skin between each word. His tongue darted out from between his lips, tracing small circles along her pulse point, causing a hitch in her breath.

"Malfoy, I can hang around whomever I wish," she demanded and he chuckled at how breathy it sounded—the only evidence that he was wearing away her resolve.

"Whatever you want, Granger."

"Damn right," she agreed before wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and capturing his lips with her own.

He smirked thought the kiss, fumbling for his wand before aiming a Silencing charm at the door, thanking the Gods above that Hogwarts taught silent spells in the 6th year. he knew tonight would be one of _those_ nights—just like it always was whenever she saw him with Pansy. Of course, after her little stunt with Weasley, he had all the more reason to remind her just whose bed it was she slept in almost every night. With that in mind, he threw another silencing spell at the door, reinforcing the previous one. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Hermione

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

**A/N:** This story was just a little something I thought up in the process of writing The Curse. I was going to focus on that one, but the amount of hits the previous chapter got and the wonderful reviews sent to me inspired me to write it from Hermione's pov. I hope you guys enjoy it & when you get the chance, check out The Curse—it's not a DMHG fic (though they are both in it—with a focus on Draco…), but I have a feeling someone out there'll be happy with it. Happy Thanksgiving!

**Two Can Play Hermione's POV**

The sound of Harry's concerned voice brought Hermione back from her mind wandering, something she found herself doing a lot of lately. '_That, and Malfoy,_' she thought, a small smile finding its way onto her face.

"Sorry," she apologized, turning her attention to her green-eyed friend. "Must have zoned out again."

"Got something on your mind then?" he asked, studying her as he waited for Ron to make his move on the chessboard.

She met his eyes for a moment, eye contact breaking only when Ron announced, "Bishop to E4", signaling Harry's turn to move. She took a moment to look at her best friends as they sat immersed in their game. Harry's brow was furrowed in concentration; his whole body completely still as sparkling green eyes darted across the board while he calculated his next move. Strong hands were clasped together underneath a firm chin. At just about 5'11", Harry Potter easily towered over Hermione's small, 5'5" frame—and that wasn't counting his unruly, jet-black hair, always ruffled and out of place. Ron, though more slender in appearance, was a match in Harry's strength—no doubt thanks to the years of Quidditch training and wrestling with his older brothers. His hair, ever-fiery, was a bit more tamed than Harry's, and framed a still-freckled face and beautiful blue eyes. He was the tallest of the trio at just about 6'11", and—Harry would agree—the loudest, though it wasn't always a bad thing. In fact, there were times when she admired the youngest Weasley brother for the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. As of late, she was getting tired of hidden emotions…but she pushed that thought away, knowing exactly who it would lead to.

Her observation of Harry and Ron led to a few surprising conclusions. One, that two of the most attractive boys at Hogwarts were sitting in front of her. Two, that this wasn't and couldn't have been an overnight development, and three: they were her best friends, and she could only ever see them that way. True, she had heard the castle gossip, and the hushed confessions of younger girls who fancied the male members of the Golden Trio, but until that very second, she couldn't understand why. It was just Harry and Ron.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice called to her again, snapping her out of her thoughts. "I take it that's a 'yes' to my question then?" At her look of confusion, he added, "About whether or not something's on you mind?"

"Oh! I was just noticing how much you two have grown up," she answered, a teasing lilt to her voice. "I can't believe I'm just now seeing it."

"Hey—we're not the only ones," Ron countered, raising a brow. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"He's got a point, you know," Harry agreed as she blushed lightly. "And we see you so rarely nowadays it's no wonder you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, and when you _are_ with us, you're mind's off somewhere else. Honestly, 'Mione—we go to school in an enchanted castle…we live in a magical world…what could you possibly daydream about?" Ron added.

'_Lots of things_' she thought to herself as memories of last week flooded unwittingly into her mind.

**Flashback**

"Malfoy, we've already checked the North Tower," Hermione reminded, as he began walking faster in the opposite direction of their common room. It was already past midnight, and although they had a holiday the following day in respect of some important witch or other, she still wanted to get to bed as early as possible. If only she could say the same for the dozens of couples she and Malfoy caught that night scattered throughout the castle.

"Exactly," he replied. She couldn't see his face, but the smirk was evident in his voice—as were his plans for the rest of the night.

"Isn't this something we could do in the privacy of our own common room?" she asked, keeping her voice low, just in case someone was hidden in the shadows. The sudden knowledge of what he had in mind for them that night brought with it a fresh longing for closed walls where no one could see. She knew too well what would happen if someone _did_ spy them together…

"That's the problem—we've done it everywhere we can in the privacy of our own bloody common room," he whispered back, his emphasis on that one word alluding to her refusal to let him into her own bed. "My room, the bathtub, the shower stall, the floor of the bathroom, the kitchen table, the stovetop, in front of the fireplace—the floor and both couches—my balcony…"

"Alright!" she cut him off, knowing full well the list of places went on. "But it's not like you had a problem with it before—and what if someone catches us?" She stopped as they reached their destination, a bit out of breath from the brisk walk up. Her brow furrowed as he opened the nearest door, only to close it, grab her wrist and continue walking. "What was _that_ for?"

"I didn't have a problem with it before, and I don't now…I just felt like a change of scenery. Besides, Granger—what's some fun without a little risk?" he turned to wink at her, as she rolled her eyes.

"That still doesn't answer my last question," she prodded as they stopped once again.

"What?"

"Why did you leave that last room? It looked just like this one…" she asked as he jerked his head, motioning for her to enter.

She stepped inside, still waiting for his answer, when his lips met hers in a kiss, making her forget momentarily what she had asked not tow seconds before. He had taken her so quickly that she barely registered his mumbled confession, the words 'late night fuck' and 'Pansy' drifting about her ears.

Something akin to anger bubbled in Hermione's chest and she attacked Malfoy's lips with heightened passion, not realizing her actions were directly related to what she didn't know she heard. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his hips and she felt him smirk through their kiss right as her back pressed against the cold stone wall. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew: this was one night she wouldn't forget anytime soon.

**End Flashback**

"Hermione!" Ron and Harry called out together, effectively bringing Hermione back from her memories.

"Sorry," she apologized once more, as Ginny Weasley walked into the Gryffindor common room.

"Hey Hermione—you'll never guess what I heard!" the youngest female Weasley greeted as the boys chuckled at Hermione's lack of focus.

"I dunno, Gin, what?"

"Malfoy and Pansy are back together. At least—for tonight's dinner anyway," she revealed, sitting on the floor between Harry and Hermione.

"Ugh—why would any sane person care about _those_ two?" Ron wondered, disgust evident in his voice.

"Yeah, really—it's Malfoy and Parkinson…" Harry agreed.

"So they're on again, are they?" Hermione replied, her voice nonchalant in an attempt to appear wholly uninterested—a trick she learned from all those months with the Ferret.

"Go see for yourself, it's disgusting!" Ginny prodded, as Harry helped her up on the couch.

Hermione stood, not really knowing why. Part of her desperately wanted to follow Ginny's lead, but another part of her was convinced she didn't care. It _was_ part of their 'deal' after all: she wasn't supposed to care. '_If I'm not supposed to care, then neither is he_.'

She knew what _he_ was doing. It was something he had done countless times in the past month or two, using Pansy to irk her mercilessly. In a rare conversation between the two Heads, she had unintentionally revealed her complete loathing for the Slytherin Slut and he had the gall to ask if she was jealousy that made her hate Parkinson so. Since then, he had flaunted Pansy in her face whenever he saw fit to raise the ire in her. '_Well, Malfoy—two can play this game'_

"Since I'm hungry…" she shrugged, as Ron called out 'checkmate' once again. "Fancy a bite to celebrate your victory, Ron?" Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Ginny? Harry?"

"Oh, I couldn't—I just came from dinner and I'm stuffed," Ginny declined with a shake of her head.

"Yeah—I've got a Transfiguration essay to finish," Harry added.

"Guess it's just us then, Hermione," Ron shrugged, standing up to join his female friend.

"Wait! I just remembered!" Ginny called out at her brother's acceptance to Hermione's invitation. "Lavender Brown told a load of people today that you to were an item or something…if you show up together…" The fact that the new information only served to make Ron and Hermione laugh spoke volumes about the true relationship between them. They were friends, nothing more.

"Well then, let's give them something to talk about," Hermione winked at Ron who laughed even more in response.

"Alright, let's."

'_This couldn't be more perfect,_' Hermione thought to herself. '_I'll show him jealousy_'. A smirk that rivaled Malfoy's own crept to her face. He'd be sorry he ever accused her of being jealous in the first place…and she'd get to pay him back for whatever he did to annoy her last week.

Together, Ron and Hermione strode into the Great Hall, his arm around her shoulders, hers about his waist, laughing. The instant she walked in, she felt a prickling behind her neck—Malfoy had seen. '_Good_' she thought. '_You don't need me? Well, I don't need you either._'

Throughout dinner, she and Ron played the roles of a couple in love; she, brushing hair out of his eyes as he kept his hand atop hers on the table. Occasionally, her eyes would involuntarily flicker over to the Slytherin table, catching sight of Malfoy and Pansy practically fucking one another with their eyes. '_Ginny was right: it is rather disgusting_'

"I'm feeling a bit peaky, Ron—I think I'll turn in for the night. Thanks for the company." She kissed him on the cheek for good measure, and then started the long walk to the Head's dormitories, Draco Malfoy on her brain.

It wasn't as though she _liked_ him. On the contrary—she still hated him. And he still hated her. But, coming into her 7th year at Hogwarts gave Hermione the unexplainable urge to do something different…something…_crazy_. So, when the opportunity presented itself in the form of a very hot Draco Malfoy, who was she to resist? At an intimidating 6'2", with well-toned muscles, a steely-silver stare and those platinum locks, he was every bit the Slytherin Sex God everyone spoke of—in looks _and_ skills—as Hermione experienced first hand.

Upon entering the common room, she was a bit shocked to hear his voice address her from his spot beside the fire. She hadn't even seen him leave the Great Hall. Remembering she was supposed to be angry with him, she hid her expressing, and began to head to her room, suppressing the urge to run over and kiss him.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" he asked. She almost laughed—he sounded as though he just asked her what the weather would be like the next day.

"I'm on my way up, Malfoy. It's been a long day and I'm rather tired, so if you'll excuse me…" she answered, keeping her voice just as cool. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was jealous…

"That's not what I meant. What were you doing with Weasel?" Ah, so he _was_ jealous. '_Serves him right, after using my dislike for Parkinson against me so many times_'

"If you mean Ron—he's my _friend_. I'd like to think I can spend time with my _friends_ every so often, Malfoy," she spat back, displaying anger to hide her amusement. Draco Malfoy was jealous of Ron Weasley?

"And do you act that way with all your friends?" The emotion in his voice surprised her. What right did he have to be angry?

"Excuse me? Need I remind you that _we_ have done some pretty crazy things, and I'd hardly call us 'friends'…Besides, what's it to you, anyway?" she asked, growing slightly irritated. Then, he did something she wasn't expecting in the least. He smirked.

"You call what we've done 'crazy'?" That damn Malfoy smirk. Amusement and firelight danced in his eyes as he began to talk towards her. She crossed her arms in defense.

"Yeah, well, what else would I call it?"

"Crazy. Hot. Wild. Sexy…" Each word brought him a step closer, before he was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She struggled to keep her breathing even as he lowered his lips to her neck.

"Wet. Passionate. Lustful. Sweaty. Satisfying." A kiss between each word sent her senses reeling, the feel of his lips on her neck sending bolts of pleasure to her very core as her mind went hazy with lust. Hadn't they been arguing a minute ago? What was that about again?...Oh yes…

"Malfoy, I can hang around whomever I wish." Her throat felt tight and though she meant to tell him in a firm, commanding tone, all that came out was a whisper. But Merlin, if that tongue wasn't magic…

"Whatever you want," he chuckled, the vibrations from his voice becoming the earthquake that shattered already breaking walls of her resolve.

"Damn right" she mumbled before meeting his lips with her own. Why had she waited a week to do this again?

Like a seasoned pro, her tongue darted from her lips, seeking refuge in his mouth, which he eagerly gave. She barely noticed him throw not one, but two silencing spells at the door. She smirked through the kiss, knowing exactly what those silencing spells meant. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
